Caged In
by PeculiarMadmoiselle
Summary: What if Scott and Stiles faced a much harsher punishment for kidnapping Jackson? After being charged with kidnapping and potentially attempted murder, the two friends are shipped off to a juvenile detention center. With a heated environment where they are targets everywhere they go, Scott is forced to control his changing while Stiles suffers silently. Can they survive the system?
1. Chapter 1

A/C: OKAY, so this is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction so bear with me. I absolutely love this show and I'm really excited to share this with you all. Takes place right before the end of "Frenemy". Enjoy!

Scott and Stiles stood outside the police station, Scott pacing and Stiles hyperventilating. They just got back from the woods where it was clear Jackson transformed into the Kanima, again, and went on his merry lizard way to paralyze more people and slash more chests. There were no other options left. As much as they dreaded the thought, they needed to warn people.

"I just don't know," said Stiles, as he held the back of his neck as if he had some type of migraine. "I have a slight feeling my Dad isn't going to take this well… You know, werewolves, giant lizards, that whole business."

He had enough pressure lately when it game to his father. Ever since he was a kid he always wondered whether his Dad would come home in one piece. Beacon Hills was a safe area (or so he thought at the time), but he had an active imagination. Then when his Mom died his Dad did crumble, in a different way. He barely had enough time to put himself together, but here he was dealing with werewolves, kanimas, hunters and madness.

"Look, you said it yourself… people are going to get hurt and we can't protect everyone," Scott urged. As much as he preferred to handle this by himself, he felt it was right to let the Sheriff in on what was actually going on.

"Well I don't want my Dad out there either! The whole department versus Jackson wouldn't exactly be a fair fight… more like Rocky and that Russian guy." Stiles responded with a hint of fear behind his weak joke. He couldn't lose his father, he wouldn't.

Stiles knew that Scott was originally more apprehensive than he was about the whole informing humans thing. This whole thing could go two ways and neither of them was very appealing. If he didn't tell his Dad he would avoid possibly being thrown in the loony bin, but his Dad would still be out there unprepared and vulnerable after a so called "mountain lion". On the other hand, he could tell his Dad. Then it would take a whole lot of convincing. That would not be fun. But then his Dad would eventually come to terms with the craziness and be more careful and informed. There was clear danger in both situations, but he preferred the latter. He needed to protect his father. He was the only one he had left… that was human at least.

"Stiles…" Scott started as he gave him one of is _I know what you're thinking because I can hear your heartbeat and you show everything on your face _looks.

"Fine! Fine, we'll tell them. And hopefully we won't be committed," Stiles sighed exasperated.

Now he had to physically motivate to move inside. His stomach was in knots. It felt like the butterflies he got when they were announcing first line in lacrosse. But these were more like moths from Silence of the Lambs.

Scott couldn't help but let out a dry laugh before gently grabbing his friend's arm to head up the steps of the station. Stiles was honestly surprised Scott was being so… supportive. The last few months he felt like he was invisible most of the time. It seemed like the only time anyone ever paid attention to him is when they needed something. He knew Scott had a lot on his plate, more than any other teenager he knew, but he was still his best friend. The thing that irritated him the most was Scott's primal obsession with Allison. Sure, she was the "love of his life", but Stiles had been there since they were in middle school. Hell, he was always there whenever Scott needed anything. But that's just the kind of person he was. The way he was acting made him feel like he didn't actually mean that much to his friend.

Letting out a sigh, he nodded and followed his friend. Inside there were a bunch of people running around as usual. The kanima or… mountain lion business was putting the station over the edge with mass phone calls, coping with the media and of course the people who were affected by the attacks. The whole thing made him feel out of control. The only thing he could do to help his father was to hide the bottles of whisky he kept in stock. He just hoped things might eventually go back to normal, or something close to it.

The security personnel recognized the two boys as they made their way through the lobby. The man gave them a strange look as if he knew something they didn't. Stiles was starting to feel a bit anxious. The other cops around giving them the same look didn't help either. He looked at Scott and he shrugged.

They were just approaching the office when they saw him through the glass windows: Jackson. Stiles was very close to having a full-blown panic attack. Not only had Jackson broken out of the truck and went off in kanima form, but now he was here to give a sob story. This was bad. Very bad.

"Scott… what are we looking at?" Stiles managed to get out as his pulse continued to rise.

"Uhm, I guess he's okay… and we're screwed," Scott replied with the same fear in his voice.

Through the glass, Jackson looked up at them, wearing the sheriff's jacket, and gave a conniving smirk. He won this time. But the thing was they were only trying to protect him and everyone else from himself. Stiles fear was slowly transforming into anger and disgust. What the hell were they _supposed_ to do with him? Now they had no chance of explaining anything.

He could also see his father's glaring eyes looking him down. The anger was superficial, but he knew deep down he was truly disappointed in his son. Lately he caused him nothing but trouble and now this of all things. All they could do was walk in.

"We were wondering when you would show your faces," a condescending voice said from behind the sheriff's desk. He wore an expensive suit and had one of those faces that just screamed pretentious douche bag. Stiles assumed he was Jackson's lawyer.

Looking at his father he could see the pure exasperation on his face. They were now in a huge mess, a mess they didn't need.

"Boys, this is Mr. Whittemore… Jackson's father," his Dad introduced with a voice coated in frustration.

Stiles and Scott automatically looked at each other. This was serious. This was really really seriously serious. Both of them knew that nothing good would come out of this confrontation.

"Yes, the father of the boy you kidnapped this afternoon," Mr. Whittemore uttered in disdain.

It was then that Stiles noticed two other men in the room. One of them looked like another sheriff while the other was just a routine officer. Maybe the crime counted in another county? He knew it wasn't likely, but it was a much better thought than the other possibility.

"You both committed a federal offense… as well as stealing an official police vehicle," his father began with agony in his eyes. Stiles only recognized this tone when he was addressing common criminals.

"Okay first off we were so going to give it back. And… we did it for Jackson, not to hurt him," Stiles blurted out. Confusion seemed to settle over the room.

"How could you say you kidnapped my son _for _him?" Mr. Whittemore blasted as he moved to his son and grasped his shoulder firmly. "You tied him up and practically left him there to rot."

Stiles was stumped for once. There was absolutely no way he could bring up the supernatural aspect of the whole thing. Even though he was the brighter of the two, he turned to Scott with a plea for help in explaining.

"Uh… well, why don't you tell them, Jackson?" Scott spurted out.

Stiles would have face palmed in any other situation. Oh yeah, Jackson was _definitely_ going to tell the whole tragic story of him unwillingly becoming a giant fucking lizard against his will.

"Excuse me? You mean tell them how you put me in that prison van and shackled me like some _dog? _Like I told the officers, I wouldn't be surprised if you were planning on killing me."

It felt like someone punched Stiles in the gut. Kidnapping was one thing… well, a very bad thing, but attempted murder was a whole new level. His jaw was literally dropping as he looked at Scott in shock. The most disturbing part was that his Dad looked like he was about to break.

The officers in the corner stepped out.

"Since your father," he addressed Stiles, "holds too much of a bias with this case we're going to have to take you and your friend over to our station in Ferndale."

"W-what are you talking about?" Scott asked with his voice teetering on a crack.

The other sheriff sighed. "We're gonna have to take you both in on account of kidnapping… we're not sure about the attempted murder yet, that will take longer."

"What?!" Stiles yelled at the man. "We didn't do anything to hurt anyone… Dad?"

But his Dad only looked at him with teary eyes and then back down to his desk.

"Mr. Whittemore, Jackson… I think it would be best for you to go outside," he muttered.

Jackson and his father left but not before Stiles noticed a little flash in Jackson's eyes. It was similar to the glaze that occurred when he was the kanima. Was this what this was? Was someone making him say these things? These things didn't matter now. He and Scott were facing prison time.

"Take us where?" Stiles managed to get out over the panic attack that was rising through him ready to combust in moments.

"First the station for the night. The trial won't be for a while so the county will arrange transportation to a juvenile facility," the other officer explained with little emotion.

For the first time in his life Stiles was left speechless. This was the worst thing they had ever gotten into. It was the kind of thing that could ruin their entire lives. He already knew his father's career would be completely trashed and it was entirely his fault.

Scott looked like he was going to cry for a moment before he clenched his fists and straightened up.

"Can I call my Mom?" he asked quietly.

"When we get back to the station," the sheriff answered. It looked as if he wanted to get things rolling. And they did.

The boys were read their rights and led to the back in handcuffs to a police car. Stiles wasn't even able to hug his Dad before they left. All he saw was his stunned expression and the emptiness that filled his eyes.

They both slid into the back of the car and took off into the dark night of Beacon Hills. Stiles closed his eyes and forcefully wished that this day had never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles and Scott were each sitting on their own cot in their cells at the police station. Even though they were facing one another, they barely looked up. They were just too stunned by the turn of events. Neither of them had ever thought they would end up in prison… ever. The cops that brought them to the cells told them they were lucky they weren't being tried as adults. Stiles supposed they were lucky in a sense, but hardly any part of this situation could be considered lucky at all. Tomorrow they would be shipped off to some institution filled with actual criminals.

All he could think about was the hurt in his Dad's eyes, how it made him feel like he was the absolute worst son a father could have. Stiles knew well enough that this incident would cost the sheriff his position and maybe his entire career. How stupid could they have been, stealing a police vehicle? At the time he didn't even think about the backlash his own father would get. Being the sheriff's son he just automatically thought of ways to help involving his Dad's work, but now he realized how selfish it really was.

He was also the one who came up with the plan in the first place. Sure, Scott went along with it, but it was his idea to kidnap Jackson. People might have been killed if they left him alone and he made another transformation, but Stiles wasn't in the mindset to consider that aspect. Earlier, Scott was let out to call his mom. He didn't even want to think what that conversation would be like. Scott was the only person she had in her life and now he was going to be taken away from her.

Scott was the first to break the silence.

"Stiles… how are we going to get out of this? They can't just lock us up…" Scott asked with panic etched upon his face.

"I don't think we can," Stiles admitted solemnly.

It was the truth. There really was no way they could get around this unless Jackson sang a different tune. Currently they didn't even know if Jackson could even control his actions in his human state. Stiles feared that even a visit from Derek and the betas wouldn't set him straight.

"You can't just say that," Scott retorted in his own frustration.

"There's got to be some way… I can't be locked up. What about the full moon? What about everything?" he continued with pure anxiety and urgency.

His friend was right. Stiles worried about this factor from the moment the officers mentioned the detention center. He knew what those places were like, especially to guys like him and Scott. They would be put out there as fresh meat waiting to be pulverized. Scott had gotten better with his werewolf control methods recently, but Stiles doubted it would be enough to control his anger in a full blown fight. The full moon, however, would be the biggest issue. Scott needed to be somewhere he could get all of his… wolfishness out alone, but wherever they were going he would be stuck in a little room, possibly harmful to himself and anyone else who approached.

It was all too much to think about, and he felt like it was all on his shoulders. Stiles' mind would not relent. He was close to having a panic attack, but he thought back to one of his exercises his therapist taught him when his mother died. He had to count down with a breath in between.

_10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…_

For now, it worked. Each number he thought of something that made him smile. Those memories were what he needed to get through this ordeal.

"We'll be okay… we'll be okay," he muttered to himself as he laid down on the cot and fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW TWTWTWTWTW

They were awoken by the guards early in the morning. The sun had barely risen. Neither of them could believe they were actually being sent off so soon. Stiles could see the pain in Scott's eyes. He wasn't even able to see his mom or Allison before they left. It wasn't much better for Stiles. The last time he saw his Dad was filled with grief and the piercing feeling of failure and disappointment.

However, today he had a plan. Well, a rough outline of one. As much as he mentally berated Scott over the past week, he knew that he was the one who had to be his anchor in there. There would be no Allison, no lacrosse, nothing positive. There was hardly a chance of him protecting Scott physically, but he was going to be fully there mentally. It would be important that he tried to keep his friend up. If this place broke him, Scott wouldn't have anyone to pull him back. It had to be him.

"So I was thinking…" Stiles started with a contrasting brightness to the grim atmosphere of the holding cells, "I think we can do this."

They were leaving in less than five minutes. A bus was sent over to take them up north to the detention center. Stiles overheard some of the guards saying something about throwing kids in a shit hole, he decided to ignore that detail.

"What makes you say that?" Scott asked as he continued to anxiously pace the cell. He seemed a bit caught off guard by Stiles' sudden change in attitude.

"I wasn't thinking clearly last night. I was scared, I still am. But someone will get us out of it. Maybe Derek will go all Dark Knight on Jackson, who knows," he joked with a half-smile. It was so hard to fake this whole false optimism thing.

"I mean, we've gotten through the werewolf situation so far," Stiles continued with a shrug. He disregarded the fact that this supernatural business resulted in the constant threat of their lives.

Scott nodded stoically. He was freezing over. Stiles noticed his friend doing this a lot lately. Instead of his usual blatant freak outs he would internalize his problems and create a shield. He knew because it was something he himself did it all the time.

The footsteps of the cops on duty echoed through the halls leading to the holding cell. The two friends looked at each other, knowing it was time.

"We'll get through this… I promise," Stiles said sincerely. He couldn't help but think this was what he said when Scott first got bitten. Were they getting through that successfully?

TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW

A secured bus transported them upstate to their new dwellings. The ride was long and uncomfortable. Crammed in with other juvenile inmates, there was little space to move. Their hands were bound in handcuffs while their feet were secured to a bar on the floor that ran up and down the side of the bus. They were also separated.

Stiles sat next to a guy twice his size with a lumpy shaved head. He would've thought he was at least 25 if he saw him on the street. Out of habit, he tried to make some typical Stiles small talk, but he stopped after his seatmate gave him a death glare. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Scott and his own model-esque seatmate few rows back looking equally uncomfortable.

The sun was beaming into the bus from all directions. It was one of those brutally chilly days where the air bit your bare skin, but the sun shined down in a blinding display. Splashes of the beautiful landscape flashed by as they got further. From what Stiles could tell, this place was isolated. When they entered a few private roads he knew it was only a matter of time before they arrived.

The road opened up into the vast grounds of the facility. It looked like some sort of small college rather than a prison, with the exception of the outmost walls bordered with barbed wire. Stiles could see inmates running in lines supervised by uniformed guards. The sight of the fellow inmates made him anxious. He and Scott would stick out like sore thumbs. This was not some sort of waiting game, he realized, it was survival.

A sense of relief spread over the bus as the long ride came to an end. Stiles was glad to be out, but he knew what was out there was worse. They released them out of their restraints in alphabetical order. Scott got out first giving his friend a half-hearted smile as a guard led him off the bus into the line. Eventually they got to Stiles who couldn't help but rub his wrists after hours of restraint. He could never really keep his hands still so unfortunately he was even more jittery than normal.

The air possessed a chill preferable to the heat of the bus, but at the same time made Stiles feel like something wasn't quite right.

The guards started directing them into clusters. Stiles could only hope he was placed with Scott since there was a possibility this is who they would be surrounded by on a daily basis. He'd seen enough prison movies to gather as much.

Two groups were already called and went off with a guard. The current guard was a man with a scruffy beard and the smell of alcohol seeping off of him even at a distance. There was something about him Stiles didn't like from merely a glance. It was the same sort of look that a beast would give its prey.

Unfortunately, he called his friends name.

"McCall… Scott McCall?" he asked in a disinterested manner. Each time he read someone's name it was like a new burden was upon him.

"Y-yeah," Scott said stepping forward.

"Well don't just stand there like an asshole, get in line," the guard commanded forcefully.

Stiles cringed. Scott would be stuck with that prick their entire stay. This only gave him more motivation to hope they would be released sometime in the near future… very near.

For a moment he caught Scott's eyes. It was like they were begging for him not to leave him. For once since this whole wolf business, Stiles felt like his protector. He was noticing the idea of being here was really getting to Scott. If only Scott realized how he was actually feeling.

Suddenly it happened.

"Stilinski… what the hell is with that first name?" the guard laughed as he looked around for his target.

"Uh, that would be me," Stiles nodded as he started to walk over to the line.

The guard took a stride towards him and grabbed his forearm with a painful grip.

"I don't like your tone, son. Now get in that fucking line," he ordered with a glaze of malice in his eyes.

_Oh hooray, I've made a friend,_ Stiles thought.

Despite the ordeal he was glad to be in the same boat as his friend. Scott looked relieved as well, but still apprehensive of the man they were going to have to deal with.

"You alright?" Scott whispered as he pretended to look ahead without making eye contact.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Stiles responded. This would come to be a common response.

After everyone was divvied up into their own groups, Scott and Stiles followed theirs into the building. It smelled like any other high school they ever entered, but there was also a pulse of tension. They were guided through the lobby, which Stiles supposed they would never see again until their release. A few secretaries were present but diverted their eyes away from the inmates as if they would pounce if eye contact was made. Stiles hated this feeling, the feeling like he was some sort of disease, some kind of monster.

They turned off into a long hallway that contained various offices. Eventually it led to a bigger space and an archway into the infirmary. Knowing him and Scott, Stiles couldn't help but think they'd be there often.

The head guard turned to them.

"You're all gonna wait until your called for your examination. I don't wanna see any of your bullshit," he projected.

Although he wasn't looking up at the guard directly, he could feel his eyes on him.

No one in the group tried to make any sort of contact with each other while they were waiting. Stiles was bursting with comments to be made, but for once he bit his tongue. There was something about that guard he did not want to mess around with.

When they got further down the alphabet Scott was called. Each inmate stayed in the examination room about ten minutes before returning, looking equally uncomfortable. Scott's embarrassment showed plainly on his face when he walked back to the line.

"What…?" Stiles asked with big eyes, almost on the verge of nervous laughter.

"It was very… personal," Scott revealed with a sigh and a cringe.

Stiles soon found out what he meant. He did see the doctor, but not before he was strip searched by another guard. He was extremely sensitive about anyone seeing him without clothes on. When he first started lacrosse he tended to sneak off to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to get undressed in front of anyone else. Eventually he got over it, but here he was completely naked and being patted down and prodded.

Finally he was able to put his clothes back on and the doctor started doing his vitals. The man seemed very indifferent towards him and barely spoke except when he asked him to breathe or something. Everyone he met now thought he was some horrific criminal.

"How was yours?" Scott asked with a slight smirk as Stiles returned to the line.

"Very satisfactory," he replied in a deadpan but also joking matter.

The tour was over and they made it to their destination. They were all designated to B Block. It looked exactly like Stiles imagined: cold, sterile and frightening. All the doors were mechanically activated by the guards. There was a tiny frame of a window on them featuring bars.

All the strength Stiles tried to build up was gone. The guard led Scott into a cell and shut him in. Next, he did the same thing to Stiles. The cell was bare except for a rickety bed, a toilet, a sink and a decaying desk. There was a window high up near the ceiling, but it was frosted in a way that the sunlight was distorted.

He never felt so alone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/C Thank you to all of you reading this! I really really appreciate it and I hope you enjoy this next chapter

Derek stood in the center of his pack's new dwellings with his arms crossed. Erica and Boyd stood in front of him. It was another one of their training sessions. This week's lesson: control. Of course the best way of mastering this was to berate the betas with personal pain. It was Erica's turn.

"Erica… stop pretending you're beautiful. Just because you got the bite you doesn't mean anyone likes you anymore than they did. Now you're just a slut to them," Derek started with a haunting grin. Part of this was true, she had become dependent on her assets, but the cruelty he was spewing was just to spike her blood pressure.

The stab of his words was evident across her face. It quickly turned into a building rage. Still, she did not change.

"I see a little steam there, Erica. Did you feel that way when they all laughed at you… when you were lying in a puddle of your own piss? And all those boys thinking to themselves, I would never touch a girl like that," the Alpha continued with a tinge of internal guilt at his harsh words.

He continued on and on until she inevitably changed and pounced towards him with all her might. Derek easily deflected her with a sigh. He actually thought for a moment that she might maintain her human state. She was improving, but it wasn't good enough.

"And you lost," he stabbed.

"You know what, _Derek_, how 'bout I through all your personal shit at you and we'll see how much control you have," Erica challenged as she got herself together and headed towards her Alpha with a death stare.

"That's not the point. You lost control and that's the end of it. You can't take this stuff personally. I'm training you, not babysitting," he shot back.

Before the conversation could continue any further, Isaac burst into the warehouse.

Derek's attention averted towards the news he was bringing.

"They're gone," Isaac started in an exasperated tone, "As far as I know they were put under arrest last night and they were just sent out to the detention center this morning."

A slight flicker of anger sparked inside Derek. Not only did he know that Jackson was the Kanima and currently passing off as a victim, but two of his own (whether Scott would admit it or not) were imprisoned.

"God dammit…" said Derek in a muffled shout of anger.

"Wait, what happened? Why are they under arrest?" Boyd asked to the group feeling out of the loop. Erica also looked as though she didn't know what was going on.

"Jackson is the kanima," Derek explained, his voice filled with disgust. "And our two geniuses decided to kidnap him in Stiles' Dad's police van."

"And there were sent to _prison_?" Erica demanded, actually looking a bit concerned.

"Yes, because Jackson is going for attempted murder," Isaac dropped.

There was an eerie moment of silence between the pack.

"Well I guess we're gonna have to find Jackson," Derek said.

And with that he headed out the door.

He was in the cell for three minutes before the anxiety began. Stiles felt trapped within the small space where he would be living for who knows how long. Most of all he was ashamed. He wasn't supposed to be here. This was not the kind of son he was supposed to be. But it was his idea to start this whole mess in the first place. It seemed like everything that happened the last year was his fault.

Stiles knew he had to pull himself together. He knew already that this kind of mindset would not help him survive in here. He had to wear a mask of strength and apathy. Scott was already beginning to attempt this, but Stiles of course could see through it.

He could hear footsteps approaching his cell causing him to silently hope it was not his new friend from earlier. Unfortunately for him, it was.

"Hey, buddy, how do you like the new crib?" the guard asked with a malicious smile through the bars of the door window.

_Don't respond. Don't respond Don't respond._

He responded.

"It's a fixer upper, but it has potential," Stiles threw back at him.

The guard let out a cold chuckle of slight amusement.

"You are something else… but you better watch yourself around here, kid. Some people here bite with their bark," he chuckled at first but then went into a serious somewhat threatening tone.

"I guess I'll see for myself," Stiles challenged.

_Dammit, Stiles. Stop talking for god's sake._

The guard gave another hollow laugh. "I have something for you," he started as he bent down and opened the food slot on the bottom of the door.

Stiles was relieved to see it was only clothes. He could tell this guy was a bit fucked in the head and for all he knew he could shove a dead squirrel under there… unlikely, but a possibility all the same.

Looking at the man cautiously, he went to pick up the clothing. They looked pretty basic: a white t-shirt, faded blue pants made out of a cheap cotton material and a matching jacket. But it was then when he noticed a white-almost transparent glob on the crotch area. With the realization of what it actually was he dropped it like a hot coal. When he looked back up at the door, the guard was gone but he thought he could hear a faint laugh in the distance.

He was disgusted. What kind of game was this? Stiles had enough problems being locked up with his werewolf best friend for something they didn't do. He didn't need this psycho on his back. There was always that one person of authority who _had_ to hate him.

With an exasperated sigh he carefully picked up the pants, holding them with two fingers, and dropped them in the sink. Letting the water flow on them he turned around and closed his eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a throat being cleared. It was him… again. This time with a shit smirk on his face.

"I need your clothes, buddy," he said looking him up and down.

Stiles knew he couldn't say anything about what just happened. It would make him look weak to acknowledge it.

"I'm waiting for the pants to dry," Stiles remarked sharply.

"I. need. your. clothes… _now_," the guard restated, this time on the verge of anger.

Not knowing what to expect from this guy he began to take off some of his layers. He didn't want to let go of his red sweatshirt. It had been there for him… as much as an article of clothing could be. Next was his short sleeved plaid shirt which Jackson used to mock saying it was right out of the second grade. _Fuck Jackson. No really, fuck him_, he thought as he remembered the asshole who put them here. And then he reached for his t-shirt. He hesitated for a moment. The last thing he wanted was for this guy to see his bare anything. Clenching his teeth, he peeled it off slowly and threw it on his bed.

The guard looked like he was waiting for something.

"I need all of them," he stated with a huff.

"Can I have a little privacy?" Stiles asked. He wasn't about to take anything else off in front of this weirdo.

"Nothing is private anymore," the guard smirked.

_Seriously? _he thought. Now he was getting nervous. So this guy wanted to watch him strip. Great.

After a moment of hesitation the man added, "Look, take them off or I'll take them off for you." It was a threat and Stiles knew he would follow through.

Slightly trembling, Stiles began to unzipper his jeans and pull them off. He was left just in his boxers. He was thankful he wasn't a briefs sort of guy. There was another moment of hesitation. It was then that he knew the guard was going to watch him take off _everything_.

He was not going to let his guy break him as degrading as this whole situation was. Stiles took the boxers off and gathered his own clothes in a bundle, shoving them through the slot with a look of defiance.

He expected some sort of remark or dig but the guard merely said, "See you later," in a haunting tone.

It was over… _for now_.

Stiles refrained telling Scott what happened when they started their first full day at what was officially known as the Vallejo Juvenile Detention Center. He didn't say much of anything when they were reunited. Scott looked like he was in some sort of daze, but not in the enduring puppy-dog look he normally faceted. It was more of a "what has my life come to" sort of expression.

After yesterday's events, Stiles was thankful he hadn't run into that guard again. They were escorted down to breakfast by what appeared to be another guard in their block. This one looked rather thick with a constant look of confusion. He was pretty large and muscular which was most likely why he got the job in the first place.

That day they learned the lay of the land at Vallejo. First off they discovered that the food was practically inedible, but Stiles predicted that from all the prison movies he'd seen. Everything was either solid or covered in a rancid gravy-like substance. The food wouldn't be there main problem in that cafeteria. Stiles didn't care for the looks they were getting from a lot of the other inmates. It was like they were scheming how they were going to break his bones.

Then they made their way through "classes". Unlike Beacon Hills, the classes here consisted of a teacher attempting to give a lesson while most of the inmates ignored them and carried on with their own conversations. They seemed to be opposites of the guards and not very trained to be teaching in such a situation. Stiles was disappointed to find that he and Scott only shared one class together: general science. Of course, his favorite subject. The only plus side was that Harris wasn't teaching it. The rest of his classes he had to shrink into the corner hoping not to be noticed as the puniest guy in the room. He already had a few guys wolf whistle at him as he made his way down the aisle of desks. As much as he knew to ignore them, he gave them an exaggerated smile that clearly stated: "fuck you".

But, he survived the first day of classes. Following that they had a free hour. The first half of it was dedicated to homework, reading in the library or art instruction while the second was a mandatory gym period. Stiles never felt more like he was in a prison movie than when he stepped out onto the concrete athletic area outside with Scott. Many of the tough guys were involved in serious basketball games while others with substantial status claimed the handball courts. Scott and Stiles didn't really know what they were supposed to do so they sat down against the chain link fence overlooking the basketball game.

There was still no sign of their cell guard. Stiles cautiously peered around every minute just to make sure he wasn't around. Even so, he felt better with Scott there and yet weak at the same time.

"So, how was your day," Stiles asked with the tone of a 50's housewife.

"Okay I guess… I just keep wondering when anyone is going to tell us what's going on with the case and all," he shared with his newfound chronically depressed voice.

"I'm sure my Dad is working on it. He's probably more upset than we are about being here… and Derek! I think in his own little sourwolf way he kind of cares… and all this has to do with Jackson. This has to have something to do with whoever is controlling him," Stiles said trying to help his best friend maintain some sense of hope.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Scott replied with his mind in another place.

Stiles knew where that place was. It was far away from here… and probably with Allison in his arms. As much as he rolled his eyes at Scott's gooey eyed romance he was glad that his friend loved someone that much. Just like she was an anchor for his werewolf problems, she would be an anchor here in their confinement.

His train of thought was broken when three large figures shadowed over him and Scott. They were all equally tall and menacing. One of them had a striking resemblance to Mike Tyson in Stiles opinion, something he knew he should never share aloud. A large white guy with a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck seemed to be their leader.

"You guys just sittin' here waiting to be someone's bitch?" the leader asked in a serious tone. The other two seemed to think it was more amusing than he did.

Stiles could've sworn he saw a flash of gold flicker in his friend's eye.

"Just minding our business," Scott began in a flat tone, "And it's gonna stay our business." His later words contained a gritted anger that Stiles was familiar with after a few incidents in the last year.

"Huh, is that so?" Mike Tyson asked with a chuckle, "Well you see little man, you're near our court… and we don't like bitches near our court."

Stiles knew that they were just looking for a fight. He feared Scott might give them one with all that pent up anger over the last few days ready to burst. It was his cue to interject.

"Very understandable," he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice as he put his hands in front of him to signal that they didn't want any trouble, "We'll get out of your way…"

Sure, he sounded pathetic. But he wasn't about to let his friend take of these guys and risk showing his little wolf face to everyone in the yard.

"I'm not moving," Scott stated defiantly, "Why don't you go back to your game?"

_Oh shit._

"I don't think you understand something, pretty boy, you're at the bottom of this fucking food chain. Now I'm feeling slightly generous so I'll give you another chance… get the fuck out of here," the leader.

"Fuck. You." Scott grimaced and stood his ground.

It didn't take more than a second for the first punch to be thrown. The huge alpha of sorts outweighed Scott more than 100 pounds. Stiles rushed to help his friend and get him out of there before Mike Tyson pushed him against the chainlink fence. He could see a crowd forming around them, mostly cheering on their attackers. Out of the corner of his swollen eye, Stiles could see blood dripping from Scott's forehead that made contact with the concrete. He also saw a glimmer of gold flash once again.

"SCOTT," he yelled as he ducked another punch from the third guy who remained silent, "PLEASE DON'T TURN."

Before he could say another word he was punched in the gut. The world was starting to get fuzzy and he could taste blood in his mouth. Stiles would have lost consciousness if the whistle hadn't blown.

The circle of inmates broke up and the boys went back to whatever else they were doing leaving the three basketball players and Scott and Stiles on the ground.

Stiles tried to sit up despite the dizziness. As everything came back into focus, his stomach dropped. The guard from his cell was standing right in front of them.


End file.
